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Jake’s being weird today. Not like he isn’t usually weird—there’s always some degree of weirdness that sticks to him, at least in Bob’s opinion—but today, well, he’s extra weird today.
First, he must’ve woken up way earlier than Bob, considering the breakfast buffet laid out before them at this exact moment that probably took an hour and half to prepare (the Hangman Bob’s gotten used to know has a special off-deployment sleeping schedule he follows to a T, meaning: when he’s off, he’s off. Goodbye waking up before 9 am. Even the smell of strong coffee percolating in their apartment won’t do a damn thing).
Secondly, he’s all smiley in this scheming way that tells Bob he must be up to no good. Jake’s smiling is not uncommon—he’s got the best smile, and Jake seems to know this too—but this early in the morning? Suspicious. Something bad, possibly horrible terrible abominable is brewing under Bob’s nose and Bob’s unaware of it.
Thirdly, and fortunately lastly, Jake’s wearing a shirt. The good kind that he has dry cleaned and pressed. On a dinner date at a prestige restaurant, sure. But at breakfast? No way. There must be something he’s keeping secret from Bob.
“What,” says Bob, watching warily between the dinner table and Jake, “is going on?”
“Oh, this?” Jake gestures widely at the pancakes, fruit salads, waffles, omelets, and fucking pastries spread out in front of them, “nothing.”
“Like hell I’d believe that.” Bob says. He hasn’t even got his glasses on. He squints.
“Maybe I want to treat you like a queen for breakfast,” Jake says.
“Again, like hell I’d believe that.”
Jake looks genuinely offended. “Why would you not believe that? I am always nice to you. That’s hurtful, babe, you’re being hurtful to me.”
Bob rolls his eyes, but decides that interrogation could wait another half an hour while he devour everything and sits down. Except when he picks up his cutlery Jake’s gaze seems to zero-in on his fingers—and doesn’t budge.
“What?” Bob asks, reluctantly pausing himself from digging in.
“Your hand,” Jake says, almost unaware of it, like he’s in a daze or something. See? Exhibit #4 of Jake’s Being Weird. “Where’s the ring?”
Bob frowns. “What ring?”
*
Jake’s proposing.
He’s been contemplating it for months, at this point. He’s got the rings (silver, with their call signs engraved on the inside of each other’s) with the help of Phoenix, of course, because otherwise the rings Jake would’ve gotten would be big and gaudy and noticeable from a mile away. Frankly speaking Jake didn’t see any problem with that, so what if within a minute of meeting him everybody would know he’s engaged? That’s good. That allows him to brag about his (hopefully) successful proposal. Phoenix countered this with an eye roll and a, “Well, can you imagine Bob wearing that,” and Jake couldn’t. Bob doesn’t seem the type to flaunt his engagement to the world. He doesn’t seem the type to flaunt, period. So. Simple silver band with hidden engraving, it is.
Now that the rings have been secured, another problem arise. How would Jake propose? Public ones are a big no—Robert Floyd appreciates his privacy like nothing else, and Jake is half afraid that if the proposal were to take place in a, say, fancy restaurant, Bob would be pressured to say yes, and Jake really doesn’t want Bob to be pressured to say yes.
“You could do candlelit dinner at home,” Rooster said absentmindedly when Jake went to him for, well, not guidance because there’s no way Rooster could be better than him at anything, but he was desperate, okay. And truthfully candlelit dinner sounded good.
Except, that was five months ago and his and Bob’s schedules never managed to overlap for a single fucking day and suddenly Bob’s here at his doorstep in a ‘surprise’ visit that Bob said only last for two days, and Jake’s scrambling for catering and candles and failed at both, and so, the romantic dinner at home plan went down the drain.
Jake could push it back, sure, look for better upcoming days where they could spend at least a week together to enjoy it but it’s just—well. He can’t, okay? There’s electricity running through his veins that pushes at him to just fucking do it, that he’s been waiting for too long. Jake swears he’s not rushing it, he hasn’t been keeping exact count but at this point they’ve been together for at least two years, and two years is a very long time in Jake’s dictionary when it comes to dating (his previous longest track record was three whopping months). And anyway he loves Bob, has even said it out loud a few times to Bob’s face (Bob said it back, of course, Bob’s not an asshole, and also Jake has this ongoing suspicion that Bob fell for him first, albeit Jake was the first one to make a move and voice it out).
Desperate times call for desperate measures and all, and Jake in his desperation decides to fuck it, gets out the velvet ring box, takes the one with Hangman in Bob’s size, and slides it on Bob’s finger while Bob’s fast asleep in Jake’s bed. He watches it for three minutes straight—he can almost hear Bob saying, “Creep!” fondly in his head—and finds it suitable for Bob. He presses a chaste kiss on Bob’s forehead and goes to sleep.
Tomorrow morning he’d wake up two hours earlier, call the nearest diner and bakery and order everything on the menu, and surprise Bob with sunlit breakfast proposal instead.
*
“I don’t know what to say to that,” Bob says, blinking, and then rushes to the bathroom.
“What do you mean you don’t know what to say to that,” Jake replies, following him to the bathroom.
Honestly? Bob does not understand this man at all. He reaches for the bin in the room and dumps the content on the floor, hoping he’ll catch sight of said silver band Jake’s speaking of.
“It was on your finger last night!” Jake says.
“Yeah, but I have this faint recollection that I went to pee in the middle of the night and chucked something in the bin!” Bob bites back, now getting frantic trying to find it. It’s not there. There’s nothing even close to resembling silver in the bin. Bob’s fucked.
“What?” Jake asked, sounding a little gobsmacked. “Maybe it was dirty tissues you threw in there?” now he sounds hopeful. Bob’s heartbroken for him.
“I don’t know, Jake, but the ring’s not on my finger now, is it?” Bob says. He really needs to get his bearing back and stop being unnecessarily snappy at Jake. He starts going through the cabinets underneath the sink even though he knows damn well he didn’t even open them once last night. It’s not there, of course it’s not there. Bob crouches down and begins patting down the floor next, and it’s then that reality seems to finally dawn in on Jake.
“Oh my god,” Jake says faintly. “You don’t know where the ring is.”
“Oh my god,” Bob echoes, feeling like literal seconds away from fainting. “I lost it, Jake. I lost the ring.”
*
It’s an hour and a few mouthfuls of breakfast later—surprisingly the waffles and the pancakes do not taste like ash in Bob’s mouth, considering the teeny tiny chaos they’re in—that reality finally sunk in. They’ve looked everywhere. Every inch of the place. Every nook and cranny. Every cabinet and shelf. Behind the door and under the carpets. Jake even looked into the drain of the sink. It’s a frantic and thorough group effort and it still results in no-fucking-thing. Bob’s getting depressed thinking about it.
They sit silently on the sofa, glum. Bob dares himself to glance at Jake and gets even more depressed. Gone was the pure unadulterated excited look from Jake’s face he had on just this morning. Bob’s sick to his stomach knowing he’s the cause of all of it.
“I can buy my own ring,” Bob offers. “Jake it’s not a big deal—I can get my own ring.”
“Okay now that’s just fucked up,” Jake says.
“It’s—”
“Bob, don’t say another word. I’m trying to think.” Jake intervenes, and, as if realising he’s being a little rude, adds: “Please.”
“Okay.”
“I’m just trying to—I’m sure we’re going to find this very funny later but right now I’m just—”
“I know.” Bob says, defeated. They’re going to laugh so much about this and their friends are going to have a field day and Phoenix will probably try to make Bob feel better by mentioning that Bob has the most unique and unpredictable proposal ever out of all of them and—
Wait a second.
Wait a damn second.
“Jake?” Bob starts. “Jake you’re—you’re proposing? To me? You’re proposing marriage? To me?” Jake is, right? Or trying to, at least, the ring missing and all, but the intent’s still there, right?
“You realised that now?” Jake says, offended, but then he throws his head back and laughs. “Oh my god, this is so fucking stupid. Of course I’m proposing marriage to you, Bob, I am stupid fucking in love with you.”
It’s so silly—the way Bob’s cheeks getting warm at that. “I mean, I love you too? Feeling’s mutual and all, and I do too—I mean, if it’s on the table, I’d like to get married to you. I’d really like it, in fact, unless you’ve changed your mind about it. Because I lost the ring. That you bought. To propose to me. Sorry about that, by the way, I don’t think I have–”
“Hey,” Jake cuts him off and Bob’s so, so grateful for him. “It’s okay. We’ll pretend this never happened. I’ll get you another ring and when the moment’s right I’ll propose again, how about that?”
“I didn’t even see the ring,” Bob says, disappointed. He feels sad, suddenly, because now that he knows Jake wanted to propose to him it’s all he can think about and frankly speaking he’d like the moment to be right now but that’s not possible because Bob from midnight got up to pee and managed to lose the ring.
“I’ll get an identical one,” Jake replies, taking Bob’s hand in his, holding tight. “You want a hug? You look like you need one.”
Bob scoots closer and lets himself get hugged.
“I’m sorry I ruined everything,” Bob says into Jake’s shoulder. “And, for the record, I’m saying yes.”
Jake laughs. “I haven’t actually proposed, babe,”
“I’m still saying yes.” Bob replies, stubborn. “Can’t we be fiancés already?”
Jake holds him tighter. “We can, if you want,”
“But you don’t want,”
“Yeah, I—” Jake heaves out a sigh. “I just think it’ll be more official with you wearing a ring.”
Bob cracks a smile. “You’re a sap,” he says, but it doesn’t quite land considering they’re still locked tightly in a hug. Bob doesn’t let up, only buries his head deeper into the crevice of Jake’s neck.
“You like it.”
“I like it.”
*
Later that night, when they’re brushing their teeth next to each other in the not-quite-cramped-but-not-exactly-spacious-either bathroom, after they got back home from a dinner reservation at the local steak restaurant, Bob has another dawning realisation.
*
There’s a ring Bob did not remember wearing sitting snug on his fourth finger.
He blinks blearily, once, twice, at himself in the bathroom mirror, but the ring does not disappear. Bob doesn’t remember himself buying nor given one, and it’s not like he has a habit of sleep-walking into the nearest jewelry store and thieving one. His brain decides that this isn’t the problem he can deal with right now. He shrugs, slips the ring out from his finger, and goes back to bed.
Bob from tomorrow morning can deal with it.
*
Jake’s doing his skincare regiment that consists of seven steps (that Jake tried to drill into Bob, not really succesfully) when Bob peels out of the room and into the bedroom, going straight to the cheap IKEA nightstand next to their unmade bed.
Please be there, Bob whispers to himself, praying to every God he can remember the name of. He takes a deep breath and pulls the first shelf open, and there it is, sitting on top of the self-help book Bob’s been trying to finish for weeks, in its grand simplicity: the ring.
Bob feels like laughing, but when he does he’s choking back sobs instead.
“Babe?” Jake calls from the bathroom, no doubt still in the middle of seruming or moisturizing or whatever, probably having heard Bob. He comes out then, immediately goes to Bob, worry visible on his face, “What’s wrong?”
Bob points at the ring, “Found it.” He says, but the laughter still doesn’t come and he’s relieved, but—
“Oh,” Jake says, and they stand close to each other staring at the thing for close to twenty seconds in a daze.
“Well,” Bob says, at the same time Jake goes, “I should come up with some speech, shouldn’t I?”
They laugh, and Bob doesn’t think his voice is the only one that sounds kind of watery. He is so happy he feels like he’s going to burst, the dam going broken any time now, and when Jake picks up the ring and gets down on one knee, when he looks up at Bob with those bright eyes and handsome face, Bob’s so done for.
“Marry me?” Jake says, and Bob bursts into tears.
(Happy tears! he’d like to state.)
*
They agree they can never tell anybody about the proposal. Not even Phoenix. Definitely not Rooster.